


As I'll Ever Be

by vintagecassette



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, But he is a stinky trash man, Curses, Inspired by "Ready As I'll Ever Be - Sanders Sides Animatic" - thepastelpeach, Lies, M/M, Magic, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, The Duke isn't a major character, The inherent homoeroticism of swordfighting your best friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagecassette/pseuds/vintagecassette
Summary: Roman is a knight who serves beneath Thomas, the newly appointed (and, unfortunately, widely disliked) prince of a medieval kingdom. When he stumbles across a mysterious, yellow-eyed man who offers him a handful of roses and a shining kingdom of his own, he couldn't possibly refuse — but things are not always as wonderful as they seem. (A novelization of thepastelpeach's "Ready As I'll Ever Be" animatic.)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	As I'll Ever Be

There was nothing quite like an October morning on the palace grounds.

Warm autumn sunlight filtered into the courtyard through red-orange leaves, casting dappled shadows over the knights who trained on the field. A gentle breeze carried with it both the clattering of blades and the crisp, cool scent of a brisk fall day. Booming laughter bounced off the weathered stone walls that enclosed the training grounds; most of these laughs, of course, came from one knight in particular, who was in the process of dominating a sparring match with this morning’s challenger.

He dodged and parried with expert skill, anticipating each flick of his opponent’s sword a millisecond before it came. One arm was tucked behind his back — partially to show off, partially because he was curious to find out if he could win that way. He couldn’t help the half-smile that pulled at his mouth as he swung down hard and knocked his opponent off balance.

“Nice one, Roman!” someone called out from the group of onlookers. The knight’s grin grew, and he struck with renewed passion.

_Jab, dodge, swing. Watch your step, fake him out, duck, thrust, lunge —_

A sharp _clang_ rang across the courtyard, and the opponent’s blade found a new home on the cobbled stones beneath his feet. The onlookers roared in approval; Roman raised his arms in celebration of his victory, allowing himself a small bow in their direction before turning to shake his opponent’s hand.

“Maybe next time, friend,” Roman told him. The other knight scooped up his weapon and jogged back toward the crowd just as another figure — one clad all in black, with a leather satchel slung across his shoulders and a windswept look about him — emerged from behind it.

“Make way for the messenger,” a knight said, giving a mock tip of an imaginary hat as he passed.

“Ah, Virgil!” Roman waved him over. “Just the man I wanted to see. Up for a sparring match?”

The messenger arched an eyebrow. “You do realize I have a job, right? I don’t come out here every morning just to swing a knife with you.”

“Well, you’re much more skilled with a blade than these fellows. Quite frankly, I could use the competition.” Roman gestured vaguely at the other knights (and grimaced when he realized they were listening). He raised his sword in Virgil’s direction, pointing at it with his free hand. “Just one round?”

Virgil made a face like he was still deliberating, but he had already tightened the strap on his satchel. “One round,” he agreed. Roman beamed at him as he drew his dagger.

These morning sparring matches had gone on almost as long as Roman had had his knighthood, but they never failed to put a spring in his step. He lunged and dodged with expert precision; he revelled in each _clang_ of blade against blade. A grin, even bigger than the last, graced his lips as he and the messenger danced around each other, laughing and ducking and spinning across the bright green grass, putting on a show for the onlooking knights.

Roman watched as Virgil swung at an opening, then intercepted him at the last possible second, catching their blades in a perfect X that flashed with refracted light.

“You’ll have to try harder than that!” Roman said, and Virgil smirked at him.

“I plan to,” he said. He leapt backward, and the fight resumed.

For nearly a minute, it was unclear who had the upper hand. These fights were always a toss up; they were almost perfectly matched. When Roman struck, Virgil parried. When Virgil jabbed, Roman jumped. It seemed as though this fight could go on for eternity without ever declaring a winner —

— and then Virgil’s dagger flew from his grasp, soaring in a perfect arc that caught the sun just right before it clattered to the ground some three yards away. He heaved a sigh, and Roman laughed.

“Well fought!” he said. He closed the space between them with two short strides and clapped Virgil on the shoulder.

“Likewise,” Virgil huffed, rolling his eyes and making the trek across the courtyard to where his dagger lay innocently on the stones. “Now if you don’t mind, _your worship,_ I’ve got messages to deliver.”

“Any for me?”

“Always for you,” Virgil chuckled. He slipped the dagger back into its scabbard at his waist as he knelt to the ground, rummaging through his bag. “You should know by now that you’ve got a fan club.”

Roman placed his hands on his hips in what he hoped was a nonchalant gesture (but definitely wasn’t). “Oh, I wouldn’t call it that.”

“A small horde of admirers that send you love letters every day?” Virgil scoffed. “Yeah, fan club.”

“They’re not _love_ letters!”

Virgil tugged one from his satchel with a flourish. “ _Sir Roman,_ ” he read in the most theatrical tone he could muster. “ _Not a day goes by when I don’t send my thanks to the heavens for your rescuing me the week before last. At night, I dream only of your —_ " he paused to stifle a laugh "— your beautiful eyes, and —

“Okay, okay, maybe that one is a love letter,” Roman conceded, snatching it from the messenger’s hand to read the rest. “But can you blame them, really? I am very cool.” He swung his sword in an intricate circle around his right wrist for dramatic effect.

“So cool,” Virgil deadpanned. He peered up at the sky, shielding his face with the back of his hand, and squinted. “I should go. It’s already getting late.”

“Don’t have too much fun without me!” Roman said, sheathing his sword to take the rest of his letters.

“Oh, I plan to,” Virgil said. He walked backwards to face Roman as he pulled his cowl up over his head, giving a short, two-fingered salute before turning around and hopping the brick wall that led to the main castle grounds and the city beyond them.

Once Roman had finished waving at Virgil’s increasingly distant figure, he turned back to his fellow knights. “That seems like enough for this morning,” he said, “don’t you think?” The knights nodded in agreement, and he smiled. “It’s settled, then. Off to lunch!”

With a few dozen knights in tow, Roman led the charge back toward the stables, chatting blithely with his compatriots about the day’s upcoming patrols and humbly accepting congratulations on his expert sparring technique.

In the shadow of the trees that lined the training grounds, there was a quiet rustle and the glint of an eye. Nobody noticed it, of course.

They would soon wish they had.

* * *

For most of the castle staff, mornings meant sweeping the floors and laying out meals. The palace woke up with the rising sun, taking its time just as the rest of the kingdom did. The prince’s bed was made, the busts were dusted, the curtains were drawn open to let in the weak autumn light. Yes; for most, mornings meant peace and quiet.

For Logan, they meant work. (Patton often tried to convince him that the rest of the staff did hard work as well, but Logan didn’t buy it.)

“First off,” he was saying, bespectacled eyes turned down toward a scroll of parchment in his hands, “is the matter of All Hallow’s Eve. We must finalize decisions our on budget, itinerary, decorations, music, activities —”

It was at this point that Logan realized the prince wasn’t paying him the slightest semblance of attention. Instead, he stared out the window of the main hall, hands pressed against the sill, seemingly lost in thought. He gazed over the bustling city and the rolling hills beyond, looking far away into the sprawling forest that bordered the kingdom.

“My lord,” Logan said, to no response. He cleared his throat; still nothing. With a sigh, he set his scroll down on a nearby table and said, “ _Thomas._ ”

At long last, the prince turned, looking almost startled. “Sorry! Guess I was a little distracted.” If his demeanor hadn’t given that away, the state of his being certainly would have; his overcoat, usually crisp and pressed, was wrinkled all over. His cuffs weren’t buttoned at the wrists, and the top buckles of his right boot were done up entirely crooked.

“Distracted,” Logan muttered. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“What were you saying?”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The All Hallow’s Eve festival, my lord. If you’ll pardon my candor, we’re coming down to the wire here.” With less than two weeks left before the festivities were set to start, this was something of a trivialization.

“Oh! Of course.” Thomas nodded slowly, biting his bottom lip as he let this sink in. “One question, though.”

“Ask away.”

“How much am I allowed to spend?”

Logan plucked the scroll off the table and went back to scanning its contents. “Considering a large portion of this kingdom’s gripe with your rule is your financial habits,” he said, “my best estimate would be _not much._ ”

“But I — ugh.” Thomas pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and let a long, slow breath out through his mouth. “This is hard.” He began to walk toward the grand oak doors that led to the courtyard, and Logan followed.

“I understand that it’s difficult,” Logan assured him (even though he didn’t), “but you owe this festival to your people. Public opinion has not been very strongly in your favor since you took over the throne. The kingdom needs a distraction.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Thomas asked, a look of hurt in his eyes. “I’m trying so hard, Logan, but nothing I do is right. I feel like… like this isn’t meant to be my job, you know? Like I’m filling in for someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Logan opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, another voice came from an open window just behind them. “Don’t say that!”

They turned to find Patton, the castle’s odd-job man, leaning toward them over the stone sill with a cleaning rag in his hand. His round glasses glinted with morning sunlight, obscuring his eyes as he said, “You’re great at your job! Everyone loves you, I just know it.”

“To put it kindly,” Logan said, “that is a monumental overstatement. It is, however, a pleasant sentiment.”

“You really need to work on your definition of ‘kindly,’” Thomas said, burying his face in his hands yet again.

“My ‘kindness’ to you is having your best interests at heart, my lord,” Logan said. He failed to mask his disdain for the word but plowed on nevertheless. “I want nothing more than to see public opinion turn back in your favor, and this festival is the best way to bring about that change.”

“But… hmm.” Patton squinted like he was trying to puzzle something out. “If everyone’s upset about how he’s spending money already, why should he spend more money on a big festival?”

“Yeah,” Thomas said, nodding along. “What if we sent some support out to the border instead? Relief funds for the Dragon Witch’s attack last spring? Or —”

“If you spend vast amounts of money on the poor, the rich will complain,” Logan said. His tone was that of someone explaining simple math to a very small child for the fifteenth time. “If you spend nothing at all, the economy will dwindle. Your most promising option at the present moment is something that will engage the entire kingdom as we attempt to find a more long-term solution.”

“But —” Thomas began. He was cut off by the sound of hooves clattering up the walkway.

Roman approached from the stables at top speed, sitting astride his white stallion. “Thomas!” he called, slowing to a halt and jumping to the ground. He skidded up to the prince and gave a hasty little bow. “Er — sorry — my liege!”

“My name’s still Thomas, Ro,” Thomas sighed. He leaned heavily against the stone wall behind him and rubbed at his temple. “What do you need?”

Logan went back to scanning his scroll of parchment as Roman launched himself into speech. He could not for the life of him understand why Thomas was so averse to his princely title; it should have been an honor to ascend to such a position, after all. It was understandable that Thomas would give a friend he’d had for over a decade a little more slack on the royal title front, but Logan had only joined the staff a few years ago, and he got the same treatment — “ _You can cut back on the ‘my lord’ stuff.” “It’s not that big a deal.” “You don’t have to treat me any differently._ " Of course Logan had to treat him differently; he was the prince! That was part of the job description. Putting his grievances aside, cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the conversation at hand.

“So, for this festival I’ve been hearing about,” Roman was saying. “I was thinking of a good, old-fashioned jousting match — with me as the star, of course, given my astounding track record.”

“Yep, yeah, sounds great,” Thomas said, eyes still downcast and brow still furrowed.

“And maybe a bit of sparring as well! I’ve gotten very good at this new disarming trick —”

“Okay, Ro. We’re kind of busy here.”

“But hear me out on this one: me, my stallion, and a jumping course. I’ve never jumped before, obviously, but I’m sure it would be a spectacle, and —”

“Roman, that’s enough, alright?”

“Oh, we could hang banners! ‘ _Epic joust today at noon_ ’ —”

“ _Roman!_ ”

At long last, the knight fell silent. A disoriented sort of look played across his face as Thomas grimaced at the ground.

“I’m really busy right now, okay? I don’t have time for this.”

“Well, I’m only trying to give my thoughts —”

“Then stop giving them,” Thomas said, finally looking Roman in the eye. He seemed, quite frankly, exhausted — his hair was tousled and his eyes were frazzled. “I — I’m sorry, but I’ve got a lot on my plate today, and as — as your _prince_ , I’m asking you to put a pin in this until a… later date.”

Roman blanched. He opened and closed his mouth like a codfish before regaining his composure, giving his crisp white doublet a little adjusting tug. “Right,” he said, and it came out tight. “Of course… my lord.” His bright eyes hardened as he turned on his heel and remounted his horse. With a jerk of the reigns, he took off toward the city across the sprawling lawn.

Thomas waited until Roman was out of earshot, then thumped the back of his head against the wall. “Agh, that was mean,” he groaned.

Logan sniffed, unbothered; he and Roman got along well enough, but sometimes that boisterous knight simply needed to be told to shut up. “You asserted your authority over a knight who forgot his place,” he said. “I see nothing wrong with that.”

“He’s my friend, Logan.”

“Even friends must come to understand the balance of things. Now, would you like to discuss the festival?”

“I would!” Patton chimed in. Logan nodded fondly at him. “I can go pick apples for the bobbing contest!”

That managed to bring the ghost of a smile to Thomas’s face. “Sure,” he said. “Yeah. Let’s get to it.” He led the way back inside, blissfully unaware of the roiling rainclouds that were beginning to creep in along the horizon.

There was a storm coming, and it was going to be a big one.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this fic for almost a year now, and after months of rereading what I'd written a million times over, I'm finally ready to post it. This story is lowkey my baby; I'm beyond pumped to send it out into the world. If you like what you see, I sincerely hope you'll stick around — I've got quite a bit planned for this bad boy.
> 
> Check out the original animatic here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNqneoesKvw  
> Follow the artist on tumblr here: https://thepastelpeach.tumblr.com/  
> Follow me on tumblr here: https://v1ntagecassette.tumblr.com/


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